Mad Dogs
by Schtroumpf grognon
Summary: They're outsiders. They live on the margin of society. Sometimes they can deal with it, and sometimes. Sometimes they can't.


**Title:** Mad Dogs

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 **Summary** : They're outsiders. They live on the margin of society. Sometimes they can deal with it, and sometimes. Sometimes they can't.

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 **Warning:** Dally-centic. His thoughts before his death.

I'm... sorry.

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 **Chapter 1:** Hello, death.

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Die.

He wanted to die.

Actually, he thought with a bit of hysterical mirth, he was _going_ to die.

And it was funny, wasn't it? That all those years, his mean goal had been to mostly _fucking survive._ to live with himself, to care only for himself and to take everything he desired. It was funny, funny, so funny. That through all those years, he failed to see the one and only thing he ever really wanted: to _stop_. To just... Stop everything. Stop living.

He had always thought, deeply, that to die would mean to lose to the world.

He just never understood that from the beginning, he had always been the loser.

And he _**hated**_ _._ _ **hated everything. despised. he didn't want to take it anymore. He wanted to tear everything in pieces and watch it**_ **burn.**

The world was too fucking _rotten_. He had always, always knew it. He thought it would be better to watch the ugliness in the eyes and to laugh at its face. that it would be easier to be just as rotten. He didn't want to, never wanted to lose. Not to this _disgusting, awful_ world. But now-

Now, he didn't care anymore.

To die would be so, _so_ much more _simple_. (why didn't he see it before? It was so evident.)

And it was Johnny. Johnny Cade who helped him see it.

The kid had always been so clever. Not as clever as him, but still. He is smart for his age, and knows how to keep up pretty well in a fight when he need to. Even if he never liked fighting. And wasn't that unbelievable? The kid is so soft-hearted it's sickening. How did he expects to survive when he can't hurt a guy, even if he wanted to and had a fucking gun? Why didn't he just punch back his bastard of a dad when the asshole beats the crap out of him? If it was him, he would've killed the son of a bitch when he was nine. If it was him... But Johnny, Johnny isn't like that. Johnny is-

Johnny is fucking _**dead**_.

He fought a wave of nausea that hit him like a full-racing train. He felt like he was going to explode. in seconds. too much emotions were boiling in his blood, bursting in his chest. He hadn't felt like that since a long time. The last time he did, he killed someone.

He could stab himself with two-bit's knife (It wouldn't be a _bad_ way to die), shoot himself with a gun- anything, anything to stop this already. There were many ways to do it. But no. No. His hands were trembling and- if he was going to die, he was going to do it his way. By doing something stupid or horribly provocative and illegal. Probably both.

Why did Johnny had to die? Why? Why? Why? He begged him. Begged god, someone, something. Johnny died anyway. Of course he would, what was he fucking thinking. But it still hurts, it hurts so bad he can't take it. He was raving, delirious, losing his shit- Why did he cared in the first place? It shouldn't hurt like that. He should've knew. Knew not to attach himself. He should've chose not to care. About anybody. But, he didn't chose to like Johnny. He never did.

The kid had been just so, so _lost_ in the world. A little wide-eyed thing. So damaged, yet so disgustingly caring. who didn't even really understand how much life was unfair. Yet who comes everyday to see them, see the gang. Every day he would be a little more beaten up. Thinking that nobody loved him. He reminded him of himself. But Johnny always chooses to _not_ fight back when he can. To not hurt anybody when he could. He _chooses_ to. They weren't the same. He thought it was a so fucking stupid way of thinking, that it was so _naive_. But deep down, he always wanted to protect that part of Johnny. To somewhat, find a way to never let the kid see how much life could be more ugly. He had it pretty rough already after all.

He knew it was foolish. Always knew it. But it had been impossible _not to_ care for the boy. He's like everybody's little brother. Little Johnny, who knows him, knows what he did, who he was- and yet, who's always looking at him with an innocent, but pure and intense admiration. At first it baffled him a little. But really, how could someone _not_ like that kid?

His hands were still shaking on the hand wheel of the car.

he raised one hand and bit into it viciously, many times. Until the bloodshed. It didn't stop the shaking. Probably nothing could.

And. He was breaking his record of fast-driving. The probabilities that he dies before doing something stupid that will possibly kill him tonight because of a pathetic car accident were high. He didn't fucking care.

he felt like a mad dog, running in a desperate and wild manner. he saw a convenience store. He knew what he was going to do. How this was going to end.

It had been a disgusting life. Thank you very much.

(But to be with the greasers had not been... _that_ bad. Yeah. Those feeble-minded idiots were probably going to mourn him or something, at last for a little while. Wasn't that biting.)

He was going to call them. They deserve at last that, he supposed.

.

 **RIP** Dallas Winston, I hope that somewhat, somewhere, death is better for you.

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 **Author's note: ** My god. That book. THAT BOOK. It gave me so much fucking feelings. I was a ball of Dallas feels 100% concentrate. I _had_ to write something about it. It was vital. This is poorly written, intense and there's no plot whatsoever. English isn't even my native language. This is me going to explode and trying to exteriorize the amount of Dally feeling I was experiencing. It was that or crying crazily. To be honest I ended up doing both.

I'm sorry for the typos mistakes by the way. Like I said, English is not my native language and I can't even talk it fluently. I cannot begin to understand why, but French (my native language) couldn't convey Dally's feeling. He was losing it, you know. Losing his head. And in French it came out... Cold. Calculated. It was a little creepy to be honest. With English I exploded with my feelings, with French I was trying to rationalize it. It's pretty fascinating.

Please leave reviews on your way out! Do you like it? Do you hate me? Did you see mistakes that I should correct? Also. I'm new in the fandom. I mean, _really_ new. Like, thirty minutes new. What are the good fics that I Must Absolutely Read there?

Thank you for reading.


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